


Monumental Moments

by TheMightyFlynn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Revelations, Self-Discovery, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28655793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyFlynn/pseuds/TheMightyFlynn
Summary: At a monumental moment in her life, Septima looks back on the moments that changed her life.
Relationships: Septima Vector/Original Male Character, Severus Snape/Septima Vector
Kudos: 5





	Monumental Moments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PurpleFluffyCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleFluffyCat/gifts).



> This was written for the [Hoggywartyxmas](https://hoggywartyxmas.livejournal.com/) fest 2020. The prompt was "a character study of Septima Vector".

There are moments in everyone's life when they have a choice to make. Although, I am not speaking of the average, everyday choices, oh no. I do not care whether you had to decide between toast and oats for breakfast this morning, nor do I care which colour hat you chose. I am speaking of the big choices we all have to make, for there is one standing before me right now; one that may very well change the course of my life.

It can wait. There are currently more important things to discuss.

This is not the first time I have been presented with a decision this monumental in my life. Now, of course, the term _monumental_ carries different meanings depending on what stage of life you are at. To a six-year-old, if they have the intelligence to know the meaning of the word, _monumental_ could refer to a barbie doll, or the latest video game, or a puppy. Not to me, however. No, I was learning lessons at that age that most people don't learn until much older.

*~*

"Septima!"

"Yeah, right. People can't fly. That's stupid."

Anger bubbled through me, causing my hands to clench. What did she mean by _people can't fly_? They could, I knew it. I'd seen my father do it on multiple occasions. Sure, he needed to be sitting on a broom to do it, but still. Flying was flying.

"I'm _not_ stupid!"

Lindsey Dunne was my neighbour. I did not like her very much, and not just because of that one time she kept that ball I accidentally threw over her fence. There was something that seemed off about her to me, although my six-year-old mind couldn't quite tell what it was at that point.

"Septima!"

"Yes, you are. People don't fly." Lindsey took a step towards me, clearly trying to be as threatening as someone with blonde pigtails can be. "It's stupid and so are you!"

"I'm _not_!"

My anger burned through me. Gathering all the strength I had – bolstered no doubt by the frustrations Lindsey had been causing me – I _shoved_. Lindsey gave a loud yelp before stumbling backwards and landing on her backside in a puddle. A wave of mud splashed outwards before coming crashing back down over her, slopping all over her jeans and white t-shirt.

Surprise washed through me. It must have been the equal of the surprise that crossed Lindsey's face, as she just sat there, with her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. There sat the terror of my entire life, the one girl I would have been happy to never have to see again, covered in mud. I couldn't help it. I began to laugh.

"Who's stupid now, _Lindsey_?" I cackled as I wrapped my arms around my stomach. "Having fun in your new pool?"

"Septima Vector! What have you done?"

It was then that I finally heard my mother's voice. She stormed down the lane Lindsey and I had been arguing in, a look in her eyes that told me I was in deep trouble. The second she saw her, Lindsey began to cry.

It was fake. I knew it, and my mother probably did as well. There were no tears, and she had not been crying a second before, but that made no matter. I was made to apologise to Lindsey, despite the fact that the entire thing had _clearly_ – by a six-year-old's standards – been her own fault.

I was punished that day, despite my many objections. Or perhaps _due to_ them. The punishment was nothing big: I missed a full week's worth of after-school cartoons. It was the _lesson_ I learned that was the monumental thing to me, though, not the punishment.

_Sometimes you are punished for stating the truth._

*~*

That is a lesson that has stuck with me through the years. From the days when Lindsey Dunne was the worst thing I had to worry about, through school, and into my adulthood. In some situations, everything you say is wrong. In other situations, however, there is nothing but right. That is how I felt on my very first day at Hogwarts.

I had, of course, known about the wizarding world since I was a small child. My father was a wizard, which meant that I had been exposed to that part of our world from the beginning. My brothers and I had always received gifts from our grandparents that we really should not have been playing with in a Muggle neighbourhood. It was no surprise, then, that I received my Hogwarts letter in August of the year I turned eleven.

*~*

"What House do you think you'll be in?"

Someone snorted. "Probably Hufflepuff, knowing my luck."

"I'm gonna try for Ravenclaw."

"You can't _try_ for anything, dummy. It's random."

" _I_ will be in Slytherin."

The sound of that voice cut everything else out. It held such an imperious tone to it that the speaker could not be ignored. I stood on my toes, trying to see who had spoken.

" _All_ the Black family have been in Slytherin for _generations_. There's no way I will shame my family name and be placed anywhere else."

The girl was tall, with wild, dark hair and brown eyes that blazed with confidence. She stood on the bottom step of a large staircase that led up into the castle and just stared around at the rest of the future first-years.

"Anyone who's anyone will know that Slytherin House is where they need to be if they wish to go anywhere in life."

"Thank you for that assessment, Miss Black," a sharp voice interrupted. The girl jumped, but recovered quickly as a woman stepped through the doors that led into a large hall. "Now return to the line, if you please."

The woman – short and squat with greying blonde hair and a look to her eyes that told me not to mess with her – stared this 'Miss Black' down until she returned to the line with the rest of us. Once everyone had quietened down, she nodded.

"Follow me, please."

The Hogwarts Great Hall is something you never forget. _Monumental_ doesn't even begin to describe it. With its high ceilings scattered with stars, to the centuries-old stone walls and floor, and the high, stained-glass windows, the magnitude of the room is simply mind-boggling.

I must admit, I do not really recall my Sorting Ceremony. I found myself distracted not only by the nerves that shivered through me at the thought of standing in front of so many people, but also by the architecture. My mind drifted over the sheer number of people who would have stepped foot in this room over the centuries it had been in use. Old things had always held a fascination for me, and Hogwarts certainly provided them for me. By the time my name was called – having a surname beginning with a later letter of the alphabet was sometimes annoying – I was starting to fidget with boredom.

"Vector, Septima."

There were not that many children left waiting to be sorted by that time. I offered one of the girls near me a small smile as I stepped up to the stool and had the hat placed on my head.

_Well, hello there._

I know my eyes widened in shock as the voice spoke in my head. Thankfully, the hat was too large for me, so I could not see whether anyone laughed at my expression.

_Startled you, did I? I must apologise. It is unusual that a girl of your intelligence arrives at Hogwarts without knowing how the sorting goes._

I will freely admit, I was a little scared. I was sitting in front of a hall full of strangers with a talking hat sitting on my head. It was a strange experience.

_So, what do you think? Ravenclaw, hm?_

"Uh…"

_No need to speak. I can hear you just as well without it._

I am still unsure about the way Hogwarts sorts its students. Eleven is a very young age to be being placed with a group of people who have such an influence over the rest of your life.

_Do you think I should be in Ravenclaw?_

I will swear to this very day that I heard that bloody hat laugh. Minerva – who I have come to love and cherish as one of my closest friends, but more on her later – does not believe me, but there is no other way to describe the sound it made at my question.

_It is not a question of whether you_ should _be in a particular House. Rather, it is more a question of how well you would do in said House. So… maybe not Ravenclaw._

The hat spent so long speaking in my mind that I worried that a mistake had been made. What if I had somehow slipped through the cracks and was not magical at all? Was that even possible? But, no. It took longer than anyone else in my year, but eventually it did shout a House out to the Great Hall.

"Slytherin!"

*~*

As it turned out, the Hat was right: Slytherin House was very good for me. I could have done without some of the people I was forced to interact with – Bellatrix Black, especially – but that could not have been helped, I know. One must endure some unpleasantness during one's lifetime in order to appreciate the good.

My next truly _monumental_ moment happened right at the very start of my seventh year at Hogwarts. I, like everyone else around me, was expecting to spend the year stressed over exams. The coming war – for there were indicators for many years before anything actually openly happened – did not help matters, but there was nothing I could do about it. At the time, I was absolutely convinced that a mere teenager could do nothing to stop someone as powerful as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I am rather happy to admit I was wrong there. But, more on that later. This moment in time focusses on the man who I assumed would become the Great Love of my life: Jean Dubois.

*~*

"Are you sure you have everything you need, Septima?"

My mother always fussed at the start of the school year. Now that my brothers had both left school, I was the sole focus of her worry. No wonder, really, considering what the world was like at that point in time. I did not appreciate it, however. Swatting my mother's hand away from my trunk, I sighed.

"Yes, mum. You helped me re-pack the trunk last night, remember?"

"Yes, but…"

She continued to fuss over me, much as she had every year since I had first started at Hogwarts. My attention drifted, my eyes drawing over towards the architecture of the station. My fascination with old things had not waned since my sorting. In fact, it had only grown. The sandstone and marble accents of the station always grabbed my attention away from whatever else was happening around me. This time, however, even my love of architecture was interrupted.

"Jean! Jean, please do not walk away from me."

It was a feminine voice, but not one I recognised. And I was certain I would remember it, as it had a French accent. Glancing around, I searched for the newcomer.

"Maman, please. I am a man grown. Do not speak to me as though I were a child."

He was… _beautiful_. I do not know any other way to describe it. Tall and well-built, he was obviously a Quidditch player. His black hair was perfectly coiffed so his fringe flipped up at the front, making me want to run my fingers through it. When he turned, I caught a glimpse of his piercing blue eyes, and full lips. At only seventeen years of age, I stood absolutely no chance, especially when he smirked at me before returning his attention to his mother. I determined right at that second that I was in love.

And, really, it _did_ turn into that. Eventually. Because I found Jean irresistible.

We spent my seventh year finding secret places to make out. I had never had a real boyfriend before – no, I do not count the desperate fumbling I participated in the year before that – so Jean was an awakening for me. The things he was capable of making me feel made me think that I was the only person who truly understood what was happening. No one else felt the way I did, and no one could understand. What we had was _special_. I feel the irresistible urge to roll my eyes when I look back on it now.

We made love for the first time the night of the Yule Ball. Jean was, of course, the perfect gentlemen the entire night. His formal robes had a touch of silver to the trim, which brought out his eyes in such a way that I was continually becoming distracted by them. We laughed and we danced and, by the end of the night, we couldn't keep our hands off each other.

"Let's find somewhere more private."

Jean's face was flushed pink in the warmth of the Great Hall. He smiled down at me, the lights glittering around the room reflecting in his eyes.

"Are you sure?"

A shiver ran down my spine as his fingers touched the small of my back, drawing me nearer. Biting the inside of my lip, I nodded.

"I'm sure."

Hell, I had been sure about this for months by that point. I avoided making eye contact with anyone as we slipped out, not wanting them to try to stop us. There was a particular abandoned classroom that we all knew about at that time. Everyone went there, especially in the winter months, when it was too cold to slip up to one of the towers. Thankfully, it was free.

"Jean…"

He turned to face me as we entered the room, a smile on his lips that I can now describe as devious. At the time, however, it looked romantic. No idea why, to be honest. Life experience, I assume. Pulling me close, his smile grew.

"Mon amour."

Considering it was our first time, there was surprisingly very little awkwardness. We had, of course, been doing basically everything _other than_ having sex, but the thought didn't occur to me at the time that it was due to that. We already knew each other's bodies rather well, and I told myself that the reason we managed to 'do it' so well was because _we are in love_.

It was perfect. It was tender. It was romantic. It was everything a naive girl thought her first time should be. Jean spoke French to me, moaning about how much he loved me. In return, I stroked his ego, telling him how beautiful he was, how good he was at this, and how good he made me feel.

It lasted about five minutes, from what I can tell. But, at the time, it was the very best five minutes of my entire life. I had found the Great Love of my life, and it was the most monumental thing to have ever happened.

*~*

I am aware that I sound rather jaded about all of this. I will explain in a little while, I promise.

Life, as we all know, has a way of going in directions that we never really expect. I loved Jean, I truly did. So much so that our wedding and the birth of our child were – incredibly scandalously for the time – only six months apart. I must have fallen pregnant either just before or just after the end of school, we both assumed. So, either during the celebrations of the end-of-year exams, or after the graduation ceremony. Either way, once we realised, we had only one choice: we had to get married.

It was not something I expected to happen. Stupidly, I know. Who could have imagined that getting drunk and having sex could lead to an unplanned pregnancy at nineteen years of age? Certainly not me, apparently. But, I digress.

Our wedding was not a big thing. One would think that a wedding should be a major part of one's life, but during that time, nothing was really set in stone. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had gathered a large enough force to be able to begin striking out at people openly. We knew that a big gathering was a risk, and neither of us were willing to take that risk. Especially considering my rather delicate condition at the time. The birth of our child later was _the_ _big_ _thing_ for me at the time.

Taking the conditions in the United Kingdom at the time into account, we made the decision to leave. Again, it was a risk, but one we were both willing to take. Packing up my parents, we bundled them out before us, to the French vineyard Jean's parents owned at the time. We all assumed that France was safe enough.

Life there was idyllic. What stupidly romantic girl doesn't want to run away to a remote French vineyard with her stupidly handsome husband at some point? We spent our days ignoring the newspapers and politics, lazing in the grass and eating a _lot_ more cheese than I should have. I was under the impression that this would be our life together. Us, our child, and our parents, all living together in harmony. It still makes me laugh.

Sylvie Claire Dubois was born on the 25th of April, 1971. Embarrassingly enough, it was almost exactly forty weeks after the end of school the year before. My mother took pains to point that fact out to me multiple times. I ignored her.

She was perfect. Jean and I spent hours just sitting there with her, counting her tiny little fingers and toes over and over. She was born with a full head of curly brown hair – inherited from me – and Jean's bright blue eyes. She also had my set of lungs. _Merlin_ , could she cry! But, that made no never mind. We were young, happy and in love. Our baby was perfect, and nothing could ever go wrong with this scenario.

*~*

Jean and I decided to travel as soon as Sylvie was old enough. We both wanted to see the world, and figured that our daughter should have that chance as well. It was while we were travelling that I discovered my second Great Love.

Arithmancy was something that I had never paid much attention to, if I am going to be honest. I wish I could say that numbers had always interested me, but that would be a lie. The truth is that I was rather distracted in my seventh year of school, and therefore did not pay as much attention to my studies as I should have. Apparently falling in love has that effect on some of us. But, now that I was not _quite_ as distracted, I was free to distract myself with other things.

It was in Greece that I first discovered my love of numbers. I had, of course, taken Mathematics in elementary school, with the rest of the Muggle children my age. This was completely different, however. Arithmancy showed me ways to predict the future, giving me skills that I had never bothered to tap into before.

We stopped for a while in Rhodes, giving me time to explore. Jean watched Sylvie as I traipsed all over the historical sites, taking notes and trying to decide whether this was something I wanted to pursue. He seemed happy enough, encouraging me in my interests and even developing some new ones of his own. So, I left him to his devices. He was a grown adult, I reasoned. Surely he can come up with some things to do on his own. Besides, I had my own distractions.

"When do you want to move on, mon amour?"

Lying in bed one lazy Sunday morning, the sun filtering in through a small gap in the curtains, I smiled. It was still early enough that I knew Sylvie would not be waking any time soon. I rolled over just enough so I could see Jean's eyes.

"Whenever you want, love." I reached to brush his fringe from his eyes. "I'm in no hurry, but I can do this research from wherever I am."

Jean smiled slowly as his hands began to trail up my body. His smile widened into a full grin when I shivered.

"Have you thought about maybe expanding our little family?"

I could feel my eyes widening as surprise shot through me. "I, uh…"

Jean didn't give me a chance to respond, claiming my mouth in a greedy kiss. The truth was, I was happy with the way things were. I neither needed nor wanted another child. Sylvie was, by that time, approaching her second birthday, and she was more than enough for me.

"This is unfair," I managed to gasp between kisses. "We've always been good at what you need to do to _get_ another child."

"What is the problem, then?"

The problem, as it turned out, was that I truly did _not_ want another child. Jean, on the other hand, did. We pushed the problem aside for the time being, but it was always there, in the back of my mind.

_Jean wants another child._

It took two whole years for everything to bubble up to the surface. We were happy in so many aspects of our life together, with the exception of this one thing. This one _major_ thing. I had begun my Arithmancy apprenticeship the previous year. Jean had set up a store of his own, selling little tourist trinkets that he made. Sylvie was progressing faster than I believed a child should be able to.

BUT.

It was not enough. The pressure Jean's want of another child was putting on our relationship was too much for me. Sylvie was almost five years old when we split.

*~*

We are on good terms, Jean and I. Admittedly, it has been… Merlin. Can it have really been _thirty-three years_ since we split? Almost makes a body feel old.

Yes. So, Jean and I were not to be. Shocking, I know. Who could imagine that two teenagers who accidentally got pregnant in their final year of school, and had a shotgun wedding would not make it? No matter now, though. Jean is happy. He remarried several years after we split, and they have three kids of their own. I, however, went on to other things.

*~*

The arrangement Jean and I came up with in regards to Sylvie and her living arrangements worked quite well for me, I must say. Six months with him, six months with me. It gave me time to travel both on my own, and with Sylvie in tow. It also gave me the chance to have more of an adult life than having Sylvie with me full-time would have.

Word reached me of the defeat of You-Know-Who as Sylvie and I were travelling through Australia. Disgustingly hot country, even in what they term their 'winter'. Fascinating local fauna, however. I made a mental note to come back one day and make a study of them.

I had been teaching Arithmancy as I travelled, as well as using my abilities as a side gig to gain some extra income. Nothing illegal, exactly, just a little thing here and there whenever someone asked it of me. No one in any kind of authority position would have had any cause to complain about me, I knew.

It was my mother who contacted me. She and my father had moved back to England two years previously, against my objections. No one in their right mind was moving _back_ to the country where a madman was trying to take the place over. No one, that is, except my parents. They insisted that they were being safe, however. And, as she pointed out, England was _much_ safer now that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was dead.

I was unsure whether to believe it. The stories that were being told were that some _baby_ had killed him? It could not be true; it simply couldn't! _Why_ would the greatest threat to the free wizarding world go after a baby? It made no sense.

The news of his death appeared to be true, however. England was reopening to international travel, and the dark cloud that had metaphorically descended over the country was slowly lifting. Perhaps it _was_ time to return home?

Sylvie was due to start school the next year. Proper school, not the Muggle classes she had been taking. She was… still perfect. I will admit that I am biased, but my daughter is the most beautiful, intelligent girl I have ever known, and no one will change my mind. I knew I had to settle down for her, though. She needed a stable home in England if she was going to go to Hogwarts, which is something Jean and I agreed she should do. And, with Jean having settled down at his family vineyard with his new wife and, at the time, two children, it was up to me to provide it.

I was nervous as we stood waiting for the international portkey. Sylvie had never even been to England before. What if she didn't fit in? What if she didn't like it? What if _I_ no longer liked it? What if–

"Portkey to London!"

Placing a hand gently on Sylvie's shoulder, I smiled down at her. "Ready, honey?"

Jean's bright blue eyes stared back up at me. It was jolting, sometimes, when I was unprepared. Her eye colour was really the only thing she had inherited from Jean, besides his height, and it was unfair of me to compare the two of them constantly.

"Ready."

Sylvie's accent always made me smile. She had _mostly_ learnt her English from me, obviously, which had given her a Northern accent when she spoke. However, that was mixed in with the slight French of the words she had learnt from her father – she still had troubles pronouncing the 'th' sound occasionally – and the even slighter Greek from when she had been a small child. She was fluent in all three languages; it was just the accent she had troubles with.

"Well, then, let's go!"

I was being overly cheerful, and it was annoying even me. I couldn't help it, however. I knew that this was the right thing to do, I just had to convince myself to stick with it.

In the end, strangely enough, it wasn't a big deal. There was no fanfare, no one tried to attack us on sight; it was just the two of us arriving at the London station. I had been away from home since I was eighteen years old and I was arriving back a divorcee with a ten-year-old daughter in tow, so it _felt_ as though there should have been a fuss made about it. But, as I have since learned to accept, life goes on in London without me there. The only people waiting for us were my parents.

*~*

Do I sound ungrateful? I don't mean to, I swear. When speaking of monumental moments in one's life, you would think that arriving back to London after so long away – and with the hint of a scandal surrounding Sylvie's birth – would rank right up there. This was my homeland and it had been ten whole years since I had been on its shores. It _felt_ as though it should have been big. But it wasn't.

We found a small flat that suited us quite well in the wizarding side of London. I took some Arithmancy jobs to bolster the small amount of money that I had saved. They were nothing big, just some fortune telling for people who could afford my services. I figured I may as well take advantage of the fact that people were willing to pay me for my talents. And so, life went on.

A couple of weeks after we arrived back home, there was a big announcement in the papers that claimed the girl I had had so much trouble with in school, Bellatrix Black – now Lestrange – had been arrested. Apparently she and her lot had gotten in well with the Dark side, as people had taken to calling them. As I had completely ignored all news coming from England in the past ten years, she hadn't even been a blip on my screen.

Death Eaters all over the country were rounded up, charged and thrown into Azkaban. There were some people who made the news. There were even some names I recognised when they were shouted from the wireless. Eventually, people began to say that everything would go back to 'normal'. Not that I knew what 'normal' meant in England, as the leadup to the war had been all I had known when I was a small child.

All in all, the months between our arrival back home and Sylvie going off to Hogwarts were a complete nonentity to me. They should not have been, I know. But, there we have it.

*~*

The next truly monumental thing in my life happened when Sylvie was going off to Hogwarts. It was not, as one would expect, Sylvie's departure to Hogwarts itself that I counted as monumental, however. Oh, no, it was something much bigger.

I had been drifting, as I mentioned, but this was what woke me up from my almost dream-like state. Jean and his wife were coming in, along with Sylvie's half-siblings. My parents were travelling down to say goodbye. Everyone was to meet at King's Cross and go to the station together. It was going to be a big deal.

Nerves fluttered through me at the thought of seeing Jean again. We were on good terms. There had been no fights over how to raise Sylvie, or about the fact that I had spent so long without a real home for us to live in. He accepted that that was simply not _me_. And I appreciated him for it, really I did. Still, that didn't stop my nerves.

"Septima!"

I kept my hand firmly on Sylvie's shoulder as we stood waiting in King's Cross. Despite the fact that she was tall for her age, I still didn't want her running off into the crowds where I couldn't see her. Call me paranoid. I glanced around at the call of my name, trying to work out where it had come from.

"Sylvie!"

"Père!"

Jean's voice seemed to echo through the station. There was a joy to it that had me smiling, despite everything. Sylvie broke away from me, and ran across the platform, throwing herself into her father's arms.

I could hear a string of babbled French from the both of them, but could not quite make it out. I moved slowly towards them, still smiling slightly at the display. It warmed me to see the two of them getting along so well. They both deserved this kind of happiness.

"Jean."

My head snapped up at the sound of an unfamiliar, heavily-accented voice. My smile faded and the warmth left me as a woman emerged from the crowd just a few steps from Jean and Sylvie. She appeared to be at least eight months pregnant, and had two young boys tagging alongside her.

"Maria."

Jean straightened, dropping Sylvie to her feet. The two of them turned and I watched as Sylvie very carefully embraced her step-mother. Her two half-brothers – for they could only be Jean's children with their perfect black hair and shining blue eyes – began to bounce around her, speaking what sounded like a mixture of Greek and French. The five of them together looked like the perfect young family, seeing one of the children off to school together. It was then that it hit me.

_I've been wasting my life._

There I stood at thirty years of age with no solid job, and a rented flat in London, about to watch the one constant in my life leave for boarding school. It was… horrifying. What had I been doing with my life? Moving from country to country, dragging Sylvie along with me during the six months of the year when she wasn't with her father. I had nothing solid beneath me; no stability to offer Sylvie. It was that moment that served as the kick in the arse that I needed.

Jean had moved on with his life. He had the family vineyard, and he had remarried and had two kids with another on the way. Whereas I… did not. Not that I wanted to be having any more children, because I _truly_ didn't. But the job thing, and the whole 'getting your life together' thing, I just seemed to have missed it.

I smiled and laughed and joked around with the boys that day. I informed Maria – a _lovely_ girl, I swear – that she was glowing, which made her blush. I discussed Sylvie's living arrangements during the school holidays with Jean. I even organised to have my parents over for dinner once they showed up to say their goodbyes. But I was operating on autopilot. I needed a plan. No more slacking off for me.

*~*

Considering the rest of this story, and the behaviour I had exhibited over the years, you would assume that I failed. I mean, look at my background: the stereotypical teenage pregnancy that led to a young marriage and years of drifting afterwards. I only had training in the one thing that had caught my interest over the years, and that was not very useful in the everyday operations of life. Arithmancy? What could I do with it?

A lot, as it turned out, I just didn't know that yet. Admittedly, some of it bordered on being illegal, but I tried to stay away from stuff like that. There was no point in declaring that I was going to get my life together only to end up arrested. No, I was determined this time. Sylvie would have a stable place to come home to whether I liked it or not.

I started small, with some odd jobs for people who wanted to know which path to take in life. I considered taking a job at a Muggle sideshow, telling fortunes, but that seemed too much even for me. It took a few years, but I was making things happen. My father declared that it was the Slytherin in me who had finally gotten a boost from somewhere, but I didn't buy it. This was all my own hard work. And it led to my next point.

*~*

"Septima Vector?"

I smiled politely as I stepped into the Headmaster's Office in Hogwarts. I had never been in there when I had been a student, so the room that was revealed as I stepped inside came as a slight surprise to me.

Bits and bobs lay scattered seemingly haphazardly around on several tables. Some form of contraption buzzed, and another clicked every few seconds. The portraits that hung on the walls all watched as I approached the Headmaster's desk.

"Professor Dumbledore."

I gave a slight bow of my head, unsure as to just how formal a job interview given by Dumbledore would be. He had this _reputation_ , you see. Not that I believed all of it, but still. Some of it had to be true.

"Please, please, take a seat, my dear. Gum drop?"

Ah. There it was. That was the part of Dumbledore's reputation that I was unsure of. He had always given off a 'bumbling old fool' vibe to me, which simply could not have been correct. No one ran a school like Hogwarts the way Dumbledore did if they did not have their full faculties. I took the seat, but declined the sweet.

"I like to keep an ear out for developments in the different schools of magic that are taught at Hogwarts, did you know that?"

I blinked. This was not the opening spiel I had been expecting. I decided to roll with it, however.

"No, Sir, I did not."

"Please, call me Albus." Dumbledore reached across the table to grasp a pile of papers. Neatening them up, he smiled at me over his glasses. "I hear that you have developed a talent for Arithmancy over the years."

I liked the wording of that. _Developed a talent_ indicated that he knew, somehow, about all the effort I had put in over the years. I had struggled at times, yes, but I had made it to the point where I was interviewing at Hogwarts for the role of Professor of Arithmancy. And I had done it all on my own. I smiled.

"Yes, Sir – sorry, Albus – I have. I first discovered a love of it when I was living in Greece."

"Ah, yes, of course. You studied under Eugenius Papadopoulos, if I remember correctly?"

I couldn't help the wide smile that broke on my face at the mention of my old mentor. "I did. He was very accommodating to my circumstances at the time."

This led to a discussion of Sylvie, and the fact that she had been made Head Girl that year. She was the first Slytherin Head Girl in several years, as Dumbledore informed me.

"Follows after her mother, does she not?"

I chuckled. "Her father, more like. He was always the more disciplined of the two of us."

I discovered that day that Albus Dumbledore was capable of making me feel comfortable, no matter what subject we were discussing. We moved from Sylvie to the war, to the fact that I had not been in the country for such a long time and how that affected me. By the end of the 'job interview' I was unsure that we had even spoken of my qualifications beyond the discussion about my mentor.

"So, I shall see you in August, then?"

"August?"

I had nearly forgotten why I was there. I was not, in fact, catching up with an old friend. I was _supposed_ to be having a job interview. That fact occurred to me when Dumbledore smiled at me, his eyes twinkling.

"Yes, my dear, August. For the start-of-term preparations."

"Oh!" It must have been possible to see the surprise on my face, as Dumbledore's smile widened. The sight of it made me feel a little ridiculous which, in turn, caused me to begin to babble. "Oh, sorry! I, uh… Yes. Yes, definitely. I will _definitely_ be here. Thank you."

I believe that I thanked Dumbledore for the job offer three times on my way out of the school that day. Despite all my hard work, I had not expected to receive an offer from somewhere like Hogwarts. Thankfully, Dumbledore seemed to find me more amusing than anything else.

But, that was it. That was the moment the second stage of my life began, with a discussion about my daughter, a war that I had fled from, and my old mentor. I was going to be a professor.

*~*

Minerva McGonagall is one of my favourite people in the entire world. Sure, she may be seventeen years older than me, but that does not seem to matter. We get along surprisingly well.

Then again, I have always had an appreciation for people with the kind of dry wit that Minerva displays. It is not sarcasm – not all the time, at least – but her delivery is timed so perfectly that it seems to leave people rather dumbfounded. It was that dry sense of humour that helped me along in my first year of teaching, all the way back in '89/'90.

The world had stabilised itself by then. The war had been over for nine years, with no threats to any kind of national security at all. I, however, was expecting to have a bit of a rocky year.

Sylvie had decided to travel. She was eighteen years old and wanted to see the world. She wanted to go back to some of the places she had lived as a child: Greece, Australia, and Brazil, to name just a few. The idea _terrified_ me. I knew exactly what happened when a young girl went off 'travelling' after school. I was too young to become a grandmother! It was Minerva who pointed the truth out to me.

"Sylvie is not _you_ , Septima."

"Yes, but–"

"No, no 'buts'. I know that girl. She has your brains, but she also has the direction to actually _use_ them."

I sat there in the staffroom and blinked at her for a few seconds. Had I just been insulted? I couldn't quite tell.

"You think she's going to go out into the world to _think_ and _study_? She's a child! She–"

"Does not have a _beautiful_ French boyfriend to distract her."

My lips pressed together and I breathed out a sigh through my nose. "By the time I was her age I had a beautiful French _husband_ , thank you very much."

"Yes, and were at least five months gone."

"That's what I'm trying to say, Minerva! What if she makes a mistake? What if she gets taken in by some, some… _lothario_? What if–"

I had to stop when Minerva snorted with laughter. " _Lothario_ , Septima? Please!" She shook her head, her eyes bright with mirth. "That is a little old-fashioned, don't you think?"

I was prevented from responding by the door to the staffroom being flung open. I jumped as it crashed against an old wardrobe, the sound startling me. Minerva, however, seemed ready for it.

"Severus," she snapped the second a body appeared in the doorway. "Must you always make such a dramatic entrance?"

Severus Snape. That was a name I had never heard before taking on the role of Arithmancy Professor that school year. I had been long gone before Severus arrived at Hogwarts, and I had no reason to have heard him spoken of after I arrived back. I found it a shame, really, for he was a fascinating man.

Minerva informed me that he had a shady past, but I swear I was not looking at him for _that_ reason. He was not my type, anyway. Although he was tall and had dark hair, that was where the resemblance to Jean ended. Severus was thin and gangly, with a sour look to him that really should have put me off. But it didn't. He intrigued me, for some unknowable reason.

"Drama, Minerva? You wish to speak of drama? How about that performance your Quidditch team put in when the Slytherins beat them into the dirt once again last Monday?"

His voice was low and oily-sounding. It _should_ have put me off. I apparently have an incredibly bad habit of wanting to be friends with the people around me, however. I had never been without a supply of friendly people around me, and I didn't see why that shouldn't continue here.

"Are you interested in Quidditch, Severus?"

The look I received could have curdled milk. Minerva let out an amused sound beside me.

"No."

That was it. _No_. Severus turned and pulled out the chair that sat the furthest from us at the table, reached for a newspaper, and buried his overly-long nose in it. I returned my attention to Minerva, who was shaking her head at the newspaper at the end of the table.

"Pay him no attention, Septima. He's always grumpy before he has his morning coffee."

*~*

As it turned out, that was a lie. Severus Snape was not only grumpy in the mornings. In fact, I believe I had not ever met anyone who went so far out of their way to make themselves so unappealing to others. Still, the man intrigued me. I just couldn't help it.

It was in my third year of teaching that this next moment took place. It is not one I am particularly fond of, due to the implications it had on my life, but it deserves a place on this impromptu list of monumental occasions.

*~*

"Albus! What do you mean _he_ has returned?"

I could hear Minerva's voice echoing down one of the halls. I lengthened my strides, hoping to catch her before she disappeared into a classroom.

"Exactly what I said, Minerva: Lord Voldemort has returned."

Unable to help it, I flinched. Despite the fact that I had skipped most of the war, I still could not stand hearing _that_ name said aloud. 

"He has tried to get his hands on the Philosopher's Stone."

"But _how_ , Albus? How is it possible? He cannot have gotten into the school; that is impossible."

I caught a glimpse of Minerva's robes fluttering around a corner as I entered the hall that led to the hospital ward. Muttering a variety of curse words I really should not have in a school, I began to jog.

"He has had a servant planted in the school for a few years now, Minerva. I should have suspected it, but alas, I did not."

"Servant? Albus, I–"

Minerva cut herself off, although for what reason, I do not know. The next sounds were whispered words – some clearly angry – before I heard a door closing.

"Minerva!"

She was standing outside the hospital ward, her hands clenched and jaw flexing. When she turned to me, I almost flinched again. I had never seen this level of anger in Minerva before, not even when she was 'debating' with Severus in the staffroom.

"What–? Is it true? Is… Has…"

Minerva sighed. Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths.

"Yes. Apparently. All I can get out of Albus is that it is _him_ , and that Harry Potter is involved somehow. He will not give me the details, and has banned me from entering the medical ward. There are at least two other students in there – I must assume they are Potter's friends – but I – I…" Letting out a sound of frustration, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "This is a situation that I cannot control, Septima, and I do _not_ like it."

Without thinking, I stepped forward and drew her into an embrace. Minerva stood stiffly for a few seconds, but eventually gave in. Relaxing, she gently placed her arms around my waist and leant into me.

I didn't say anything. Not that I would have known what to say. How does one comfort someone when they didn't even have the full details of what had happened?

"I promised myself I would protect him, Septima. I _promised_."

When Minerva sniffled, I drew out my wand and sliced off a piece of my robes. She objected, but I would hear nothing of it. I transfigured the piece of cotton into something at least vaguely resembling a handkerchief and handed it to her. She smiled up at me, still sniffling.

"Thank you."

*~*

The following years were fraught with situations that I would never have expected to be in. I, of course, was not directly involved in any of them, but being nearby was enough for me. The Chamber of Secrets being rediscovered and reopened – along with the near-death of one of the Weasley children – the very next year put the fear of a higher power in me, and I told Sylvie to not return to the United Kingdom.

"But mother…" She had taken to calling me by this formal appellation in the recent months, and I must say, I did not care for it. "I can _help_."

"No, Sylvie, you _cannot_." I tried to put as much emphasis to my words as I possibly could, but still feared that she would ignore them. "If you need to come home, go to your father's house. It is safe there."

Jean's children were all still in school, so Sylvie's appearance there would not disrupt too many things, I hoped. I had, of course, spoken with him already, and he agreed with me: it was too dangerous for Sylvie to return here. I could see Sylvie roll her eyes even through the floo connection.

"If it's so dangerous, why are _you_ staying?"

_Good question_ , I thought. _One with no good answer_.

"I have a responsibility, Sylvie–"

"To people you don't know? What about your responsibility to _me_?" She frowned, the green ashes of the floo giving her an almost demonic look. "If you don't want me there because of how dangerous it is, do you really think _I_ want _you_ there? I only have one mother, mother."

My chest ached. If I could have reached out to hug her, I would have. Hell, I nearly tried.

"Sylvie, Sylvie," I murmured, moving to kneel down closer to the fire. "You are my light, and my love. You know I would never leave you. I am taking all necessary precautions, I swear. Hogwarts is one of the safest places to be."

"Really, mother? With giant snakes running around petrifying people?" At my shocked look, Sylvie sighed. "Yes, I heard. No, it wasn't father. Surprisingly enough, word tends to get around when there's giant monsters rampaging through a school."

I couldn't help smiling. "I do not know where you get that tendency for sarcasm, young lady, but it is unbecoming."

My smile widened when Sylvie snorted. Bits of ash flew out of the floo, spreading on my hearth.

"'Unbecoming', mother? Since when have _I_ ever been a _lady_?"

Warmth spread through me, despite the fact that I knew I was probably not going to see my daughter for a long time. We laughed and gossiped together for hours that night, with her prodding me to tell whether I had 'finally found someone'.

"Sylvie, please–"

"No, come on, mother. Don't think that I didn't know when you had a man around when I was a kid. There's got to be _someone_ , right? Some hot professor, maybe?"

Casting my mind over my colleagues, I would never have called any of them 'hot'. Hagrid clearly had giant's blood in him, whether he wished to acknowledge it or not, Albus was old enough to be my great-grandfather, Argus was… No. Just no. That left Filius, who, as much as I appreciated him, I just could not see myself with. And… Severus.

"I _knew_ it!" Sylvie exclaimed when I hesitated. "I knew it! Who is it? Did they get a new Defence Professor? Who is he?"

_Oh. Right. Him._

"Sylvie, I am _not_ going to discuss my private life with my own daughter."

"I don't want details, mother. All I want to know is if there's _someone_ out there. Maybe even just the possibility of someone?"

I sighed. "If I admit that there is always the chance that I may run into someone I like, will you stop asking?"

Sylvie grinned, her bright eyes shining even through the floo. "Of course, mother. I will live in hope."

*~*

The camaraderie between the Hogwarts professors is something that I have come to cherish over the years. I was hesitant to involve myself in some of the more out-there antics at first, but we have all come together when it is needed.

"Are you all going on your little 'secret' adventure again this year, Minerva?"

Filius Flitwick has always had an almost uncanny ability to make everything sound… dirty. There is just something about his tone that puts forth the suggestion of everything having more to it than it does. It amuses me, for the most part. I smiled as he waggled his bushy eyebrows in Minerva's direction.

"I have no idea what you are on about, Filius." There was a twinkle to Minerva's eye. "I shall attend the Halloween Feast along with everyone else this evening. I shall then attend the choosing of the Triwizard Champions, again, along with everyone else."

My smile widened. We all knew what they were speaking of, it was just never actually spoken aloud. Minerva had led the women of Hogwarts in a special Halloween celebration of our own each year I had been employed there. I did not know how long she had been holding this celebration, but I would wager it was almost longer than I care to think about. The door to the staffroom opened then, and all heads turned to see the newcomer.

"Oh, Severus, good," Filius exclaimed. "We were just discussing Minerva's secret adventure tonight."

"I have no idea what you are on about, Filius."

The words, despite being the exact same as Minerva's, sounded almost threatening. I glanced up, trying to catch a glimpse of Severus' face to see if he was joking, but he kept his eyes averted. It had always been difficult to judge Severus and his moods – yet another aspect of his personality that intrigued me – but I had an inkling that this was not what it appeared to be. Watching him as I was, it was difficult to miss the tiny upturn of his lips as he stopped by Minerva's chair.

"The centaurs have been speaking of her upcoming orgy in the forest for weeks now," Severus continued, his tone still with no hint of amusement to it. "It is hardly a secret."

It is at times like this that I never know whether to laugh or not. Severus was clearly joking – at Minerva's expense, no less – but the tone to his voice… The decision was taken from me that time, however, by Filius snorting with laughter.

"An _orgy_ is it, Minerva?" Filius' voice bounced around the staffroom, making me glad that there was some form of Silencing Charm over the room. "I knew there was something kinky going on out there each year!"

The smile that had been threatening broke on my face as Severus glanced over. There was still no true hint of laughter about him, but I swear he smiled back just before I ducked my head to try to regain control over myself.

*~*

The following years are ones I would wish to forget. Everything seems melded together in my memories of the time, so they shall all be clumped together here, too.

The night Albus died was devastating. Not just to myself, but to the entire school. And it was compounded by the fact that not just one, but two of our own had seemingly betrayed us. Severus was seen shooing the Malfoy boy out of the grounds as Potter ran after the two of them, screaming curses at their backs.

This came, of course, the year after the Ministry had ensconced that Umbridge woman in the school, and the year before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named took the school over wholesale. I, as with many of the other teaching staff, felt the betrayal particularly badly.

"I had thought that we were _friends_ , Minerva. It makes no sense!"

We sat in a corner of Minerva's sitting room the day before the schoolyear was scheduled to start. It was one of the only sanctuaries we could find.

"As did we all, Septima." She handed me a glass of brandy. "It makes very little sense to me, either. Severus…"

She sighed. Glancing up, I caught a glimpse of sadness to her eyes before she turned to stare into the fire.

"The Malfoy family have a history of choosing the wrong side. They managed to squirm their way out of Azkaban after the end of the war, but we all knew that they should have been imprisoned. Severus, on the other hand… He was accused, I will not deny that. There was an accusation, but Albus squashed it in the Wizengamot. He seemed to trust him, but I do not know why." Shaking her head, she returned her attention to me. "But, no matter. We will weather this. Together."

And we did. The camaraderie of the Hogwarts staff lasted through the war. We stood together against the tyranny of the Dark side, and protected our charges as best we could. Death Eaters roamed the corridors of the school freely, and people were punished for disobedience. In amongst it all, poor, dear Charity disappeared, and we only discovered exactly what had happened to her after everything was over.

There was only one bright, shining thing mixed in with all the grey: I had kept Sylvie away from England. The fact that I had not seen my daughter in person in almost nine years hurt more than I can put into words, but I knew it was for her own good. I spoke to her as frequently as I could through the floo, learning of her loves and losses, the jobs she worked, and the activities she took up. Jean was amazing through it all as well. He seemed to be able to keep Sylvie stable when the worst of the news reached France, where she had settled down.

All this stress and heartache would be more than enough for the normal person to consider _monumental_ , I know. I was literally living through a war. How much bigger can you get than a true, honest-to-God war? But, I must admit, it was what happened after the war that is the real thing that sticks in my mind.

*~*

After everything had settled, Hogwarts was in a shambles. People were dead or missing, parts of the castle itself had fallen apart, and the teaching staff were scrambling to work out who would lead us all. The Aurors were of no use, as they had their hands full rounding up the remaining Death Eaters, and the Ministry was in even worse shape than the school.

I had, of course, checked in with Jean and Sylvie the second I had the chance. Sylvie was determined to take the first international portkey she could, and I found myself reluctant to stop her. In the meantime, however, there was something I needed to deal with.

St. Mungo's had always smelled weird to me. It was not just the combination of cleaning products and potions – although that certainly played a part in it – but there was something indefinable about the place. Perhaps it was how old the building was. So many people had passed through the doors that they must have left some kind of mark on the place.

I kept my head down, not meeting anyone's eyes. It wasn't that I didn't want to be seen, I just figured that what I was there to do was my own personal business, not anyone else's. Nerves flittered through my stomach as I came to the Creature-Induced Injuries Ward.

"Ma'am." There was an Auror on guard. I offered him a small smile. "Pass, please."

It had been surprisingly easy to gain a pass into the ward. I assumed it was due to the fact that everything was still in chaos.

"Thank you, ma'am."

The Auror nodded me into the ward. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly.

It was not a very large ward, considering the amount of people who must be injured by magical creatures each year. I glanced around, getting my bearings before heading down the corridor towards room 4W. He was the only one in the room.

"You are a fascinating man, Severus."

He was conscious. Propped up against at least five pillows, the only thing that moved were his eyes. The look he gifted me sent a shiver down my spine.

"Harry Potter has cleared your name already. Had a huge fight in the middle of the Great Hall with Shacklebolt about it. Or, at least, what remains of the Great Hall." Was that shame I could see in his eyes? I could not tell. "No matter, though. There's no need for you to speak. My daughter will be arriving back in England for the first time in nearly nine years in the next two days, so I am in need of some company."

With that, I grabbed a chair and placed it beside his hospital bed. He watched me warily, his breath wheezing a little. The bandages that wound around his throat seemed to make breathing difficult, but he still managed to speak, nonetheless.

"Company?"

It was clear that speaking hurt him. His voice was nearly completely gone, but he was still understandable. I nodded.

"Yes, some company. And, since you were not very communicative to begin with, I believe you are the best company for me at the present moment."

And he was. There was little that either of us wished to speak about, but the company was welcome. During the months of his recovery, even the wariness and suspicion in his eyes faded each time I arrived to visit him in the hospital. We became very comfortable with each other, and grew closer, despite how difficult he was to get to know properly.

*~*

And so, that leads us back to the present. The present and this final _monumental_ occasion. In some ways, I feel as though this is the biggest of them all. It is the culmination of every single thing that has happened during the course of my life, both big and small.

"I have never been particularly romantic, Septima; you know that."

I smiled as I took a seat on the end of Severus' three-seater in his Hogwarts quarters. The rooms had never been big, but they fit two people nicely.

"And I have never needed romance; _you_ know that."

My smile widened as he handed me a glass of champagne before taking the seat beside me on the lounge. It had taken me a long time to convince him that physical closeness did not have to mean sexual closeness. Just sitting and being together could be as special as anything else we could be doing.

"No, I know." He paused to take a sip of champagne, his free hand sliding up to rest on my thigh. "I feel as though you deserve it, however."

Warmth flooded me. In the ten years since the end of the war, we had not really had one single moment that I would term 'romantic'. Sure, we had sex, but that was a given, as soon as Severus had been physically capable of it. Sex, however, was not romance. Snuggling closer, I leant my head on his shoulder.

"And you don't?"

A quiet huff of breath was his only response. I had quickly learned that that sound meant that Severus found something amusing, but it had confused the hell out of me to begin with. It hadn't exactly been a smooth road to get to where we were, but I believed it had been worth it.

"Not tonight, no."

I frowned. There was something to the tone of Severus' voice that was a little strange, but I couldn't quite place what it meant. Sitting back up, I stared at him for a few seconds.

"What do you mean?" Severus hadn't moved since sitting down. It was then that I realised just why: every single one of his muscles was tensed. "Severus?"

"I should have organised something. Sylvie told me not to bother, but I have the feeling that you would have appreciated it."

The look in his eyes as he finally glanced over stole my breath away. My heart began to pound in my chest. The harsh lines of Severus' face had never softened, and the scars on his throat had never faded. That was something I loved about him, however. Reaching up, I brushed a greying strand of hair away from his temple.

"Sylvie told you not to bother with what?"

Severus took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then released it. Reaching into the pockets of his robes, he pulled out a small, red box.

"She said not to bother with anything beyond a ring."

My heart stopped. Or it began to race, I couldn't really tell which.

"Oh."

"Marry me, Septima."

I will never forget the level of nerves in those three small words. With a flick of Severus' thumb, the box flipped open, revealing a simple gold band with a single ruby in the centre. The firelight reflected off it, causing it to shine brightly.

I believe my champagne glass is currently lying on the floor, spilling its contents. The house-elves will not be best pleased with me, but I do not care. Severus tastes of champagne and strawberries, and fits against me perfectly. It is a long time before we surface for air.

"That's a 'yes', in case you cannot tell," I murmur against his lips, earning myself a quiet chuckle.


End file.
